Black Velvet
by rizlow
Summary: I've debated long and hard with myself about posting a fic that involves Demon!Dean, because there have been so many amazing ones already written. But this hasn't left me alone since I wrote the drabble that will now serve as a prologue. So I'm posting it again, and continuing with the story…
1. Chapter 1

**PROLOGUE**

The air is pressing in around you. Gravity is a bully, pushing at you until you can barely lift your feet. Sorrow is heavy, thick…a smothering presence that halts all thought, leaving only pain, unvoiced because there are no words dark enough, despairing enough, hopeless enough to describe it.

You stumble from Dean's room, blindly making your way down the hall towards the library. Sam throws back a shot of whiskey as you watch from the doorway, and his eyes, dead and lifeless, move up to meet yours. Your lips part, you open your mouth, but no word or sound escapes. Your throat constricts and you look back down again, unable to bear the desolation on his face. You turn away, slow motion as if you are wading through a sea of molasses, and then you feel his hand on your shoulder, pulling you back, turning you towards him as he folds you into himself.

And that's when you break. You feel, more than hear, the deep sob being wrenched from Sam's chest, and you crumble into sharp, brittle shards, quaking in his unyielding embrace as you curl your fingers into fists around handfuls of his soft plaid. Sam sinks to his knees as he holds you, and you clutch each other, the vortex of grief and loss sucking at you, clawing, trying to pull you both under.

 **CHAPTER 1**

You're beyond tired, right down to your bones. Your eyes feel dry, almost gritty from lack of sleep and the sea of tears you've cried the last few days. Everything aches. Everything.

But Sam needs you. The desperate search for Dean, or what used to be Dean, has consumed him, and you are doggedly determined to be there for him, to find answers when he needs them. You are holding yourselves together – Sam, by his fierce devotion to recovering his brother's body and bringing him back, and you, by throwing yourself completely into giving him some kind of anchor to hold on to. Sam has stubborn, unrelenting hope that Dean can be saved. You, however, are in mourning for him, desolate and achingly lonely for the man you loved with everything you have in you. Being there for Sam is the only thing keeping you from lying curled up in your bed and surrendering completely to the grief that presses in on you every minute of every day.

You send Sam a message containing the information he asked for and close the laptop, folding your arms on top of it and laying your head on them for a moment. You just need to rest your eyes, just for a few seconds. You should eat something, but nothing has any flavor. You should sleep, but the fear of the nightmares that haunt you keep you from your bed. The memory of his battered and bloody face are always in your mind, but in your dreams… it's fresh, agonizing, just as if you're seeing him for the first time. And you can't bear it.

Warmth surrounds you like a blanket, and you feel a brush of lips against your neck. You sigh softly, as strong hands run up the slope of your back, then gently knead at your aching shoulders. And then a chill runs up your spine as you realize there is no one there to kiss you, to touch you. You jerk yourself upright and turn in your chair, eyes wide and terrified… but there is nothing to see. You could swear you weren't asleep, but… you must have been.

And if you can fall asleep at the table, you really must give in and go to bed. You take a sleeping pill, hoping it will keep your subconscious safely at bay, and crawl between the sheets, hugging a pillow to your chest.

—–

Consciousness slowly but insistently prods at you until your eyes flutter open. Impressions from your dream are still with you, your senses still almost sure it was real. You still feel the heat of a body curled up close behind you, warm breath on your neck. His scent still surrounds you. The thought occurs to you, not for the first time, that you should have gone with Sam. At least then you wouldn't be quietly losing your mind all alone in the echoing halls of the bunker.

A shower and a hot cup of coffee help clear the cobwebs, and you plop down into a chair at one of the tables in the library, sighing as you open your laptop. Sam asked you to keep checking for signs of demonic activity, and despite the fact that you think he's on a hopeless quest, you refuse to let him down. Your phone vibrates against the gleaming mahogany surface of the table, making you jump a little, and you reach for it.

"Sam? Are you okay?"

"Hey, Smalls. I'm okay. Are you sure you are? I feel bad, leaving you there alone…"

The guilt in his voice makes you wish he was here so you could hug him. "Sam, I'm fine. Well, as fine as you are, anyway. What's up?"

"Listen, that guy you called me about? Drew Neely?"

"Yeah… sorry. Probably turned out to be nothing, right?"

"Actually, I'm going to Wisconsin to check it out."

"Sam, you realize – it's probably not…"

"Listen, Smalls – I know you think I'm crazy. Or delusional. Whatever. But I know something out there is wearing my brother, I know Crowley's behind it, and I can't let that go." You don't know how to answer that, so you just wait, and Sam finally speaks again. "I can't let some – thing – use Dean like that. I need to find him, bring him home." He's quiet again for a moment, but you can hear his ragged breathing, and you know he's struggling to keep it together. "Even if I can't get him back… maybe if we can, you know, lay him to rest… maybe…"

"I know, Sam." Your eyes are swimming with tears as you hear the pain in his voice, and your chest aches with the effort to control your emotions. "I know. Do what you have to do. Just check in, often. Let me know you're okay. Or if you find anything. And be careful. I know you want to go after Crowley, but – Sam, just… I can't stand losing anyone else right now."

"I know, Smalls. I'll be careful. I promise. Call you later."

—–

Food. You have to eat something. Forcing yourself to get up from the chair, you go to the kitchen. There isn't much to choose from, but there are still a few eggs in the fridge, and it doesn't take long to scramble a couple. After forcing them down, you refill your cup with strong, bitter coffee and trudge back to the library. The cup slips from your numb fingers, your mouth and eyes widen as you see him, leaning back against the edge of the table, legs casually crossed at the ankle and arms folded over his chest as he grins sardonically at your shock.

"Surprised to see me?"

Your heart is pounding so hard you can barely breathe, panic squeezing at your chest. "Dean? What… how…"

He shifts his weight from the table and takes a step towards you, and you skitter backwards clumsily, one hand held out as if to ward him off. A humorless chuckle vibrates in his chest as he stops, and you blindly reach out a hand for support, connecting with a small table lamp that crashes to the floor. His laughter echoes through the room, and your knees connect with the chair behind you, dropping you ungracefully into its seat.

"You should really calm down, sweetheart. I just wanted to stop in, say hello to my girl."

"Sam's looking for you," you manage to blurt out, your voice barely recognizable.

"Oh, I know. He's a real pain in the ass. Besides, you're the one I wanted to see." He moves closer, stalking you, but your body doesn't respond, can't manage to leap out of the chair and run. And he grins again as he stands over you, bending to rest his hands on the arms of the chair, staring down at you. "I've been kind of… hanging around. You probably thought you were dreaming, right? No, baby, I've been here, with you. Just wanted to give you a little time to adjust. I'm not a monster, you know." He leans in, his face directly in front of you, his smile gone, and you whimper in fear as his eyes go completely black. "I'm a demon."


	2. Chapter 2

You are frozen in place, afraid to move or even breathe, as those lifeless black eyes stare down at you. He blinks once, twice, and the green eyes you love – loved - are back. You take a shuddering breath, looking up at him defiantly. "You… you are not Dean. You are some… thing… using Dean's body." Your eyes narrow, and you softly begin to speak, to utter the words you have come to know like second nature. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas…"

He laughs. "I'm not possessed, sweetheart. You can't exorcise me. I'm not possessed by a demon. I _am_ a demon. And I _am_ Dean."

"You are not Dean!" You shout the words at him, throwing his assertions back in his face, refusing to believe them. But he leans in closer, just a hint of a smirk curving his lips.

"Oh, I am Dean, baby. New and improved. All of the fun, none of the drama. All play, no pay. I am all Dean." He leans in close, his voice honey-smooth and seductive. "Every inch." He moves closer, and you are pushing against the back of the chair, but there's nowhere for you to go as his lips brush over yours softly, then capture them. Your eyes squeeze shut. Your mind is your enemy now, because instead of the brutal assault you were expecting, your tactile memory is telling you this is Dean. These are Dean's lips, gently caressing yours, Dean's tongue is teasing over your bottom lip, and you feel him smile against you at the small, desperate sound in your throat. But that smile is what stops you from being completely lost, and you jerk your head to the side.

"You are not my Dean." He leans in, nuzzling his face in your hair, taking a deep breath before he speaks, his voice soft and enticing in your ear.

"Sweetheart, you keep telling yourself that. Maybe you can convince yourself that you don't want me, at least for a while. But you can't hide from me. I know all your happy places, I know how to make your body sing, and I know you miss the things I can make you feel." He stands up straight and tall before you, his arms folded once again, biceps bulging beneath the sleeves of his red button-down. "I've got some business to take care of, but I'll be back." He turns to walk away, but stops for a moment, tossing his parting words over his shoulder nonchalantly. "By the way, you won't be able to leave here. So don't try. Or do, but it's a waste of your time. And if you tell Sam I'm here… I'll have so many demons on him that he won't have a chance to fight back. Tell me you understand, because you know I'm a man of my word."

Your eyes are spitting fire at his back as you answer defiantly. "I understand." You turn your head, not even wanting him in your line of sight, but when you look back up, he's gone. The tension leaves your muscles and you slump bonelessly in the chair, shaking violently, an unacknowledged tear rolling down your cheek.

—–

It takes you a while to work up the strength of will to move. You go to the shower first, looking constantly over your shoulder, scrubbing your skin until it's pink and almost raw, still not feeling clean. After throwing on an old pair of jeans and a big, cozy sweater, you wander around the bunker, afraid to test your limits. But finally you close your eyes for a moment, bolster your courage, and run up the stairs, fumbling at the door, yanking hard at the handle. It doesn't budge, and you stand there, a feeling of trapped panic bubbling up inside you until you can contain it no longer. You race through the rooms, trying the few other entrance points, but with the same result. He wasn't lying – you can't get out. And you know, with cold certainty, that he absolutely meant what he said about Sam.

Your cell phone rings, and you jump, crying out in fear. You answer, trying your best to sound normal. Or what would pass for normal these days. "Hey, Sam. How are you?"

"Hey - you okay? You sound out of breath."

"Decided to work out, get rid of some stress. What's up, Sam?"

"Listen." He pauses, he sounds serious, and you wait, dreading what will come next. "I found Dean. Well, at least where he was, not that he's here now. Smalls, maybe you should sit down."

"Sam, what is it? Just tell me." Your fingers are white, gripping the edge of the table so hard they hurt.

"I've seen him. He's possessed. I saw the black eyes, caught on video after he killed a demon that attacked him in a convenience store. Crowley's got one of his asshats wearing my brother."

Sam's voice is shaking, and your heart aches at not being able to be there, to help him. "Sam…"

"I will save him, and I will bring him home to you. I swear it. And while I'm at it, I'll take Crowley out, too."

"Sam, please don't say that. I can't… Please don't do anything stupid."

You hear him breathing on the other end, finally sighing as he tries to force himself to calm down. "Yeah, well… too late for that. But I promise I'll be careful, Smalls. I've got another lead to track down. Just don't give up on me, okay?"

Your face is wet with tears, and agonizing frustration at being unable to tell him what you know, what you've seen, is twisting in your gut. "I won't," you manage, and he ends the call with a "Talk to you later."

You barely stop yourself from throwing the phone across the room. You can't even tell him that his brother isn't possessed, that his soul has been twisted and warped, and that he has become one of the things he's always hunted. The warmth, the softness that used to shine in Dean's eyes when he looked at you is gone. It's him, but it's not him, and you wish with all your heart that he looked like something else, anything else. Your heart aches in your chest, the longing for his arms around you and his lips on your skin even worse now. Because you could have it. You could be with him, physically if nothing else, and the temptation is overwhelming.

You make your way to the couch and curl up under the old throw that's always handy there, well-used from movie nights and short naps during research sessions. You're sure you'll never sleep again, but you do, in record time, the shock and exhaustion defeating your fears.

—–

His lips are warm on your neck, and they suck lightly at your skin before moving on, savoring the taste of you. He hums in approval as you tilt your head, giving him more room. He moves one large hand to your shoulder, calloused fingertips gentle as he slips your sweater down your arm, baring more silken skin for him to worship with his lips, his tongue. "So soft," he whispers, and you feel yourself falling under his spell, his touch mesmerizing you and his voice a siren call you can't resist. "Dean," you whisper, beginning to lean closer…

A dark, low chuckle sends your eyes flying open, and you sit up on the couch so fast that your head spins for a moment. He's sitting in a chair nearby, watching you intently, his eyes glittering, an arrogant smirk on his lips. "Enjoying yourself, sweetness?"

You should be afraid. You should be cautious, try to make yourself smaller in his eyes. But an intense anger washes over you and you leap from the couch, glaring at him as you move closer. "You stay the hell away from me!" you scream at him, your eyes wide, your teeth clenched. When you whirl around to leave, you find that you can't move, your feet seem to be glued to the floor, and all you can do is shake with impotent rage. "I hate you. You're a fucking monster, and I will never willingly let you touch me. Never. You are not…"

"Dean. Yeah. Is this on a loop? I could swear I've heard this before." He stands up behind you, and somewhere inside you fear springs back to life. "Let me tell you what's happening here, sweetheart."

He moves silently around you, standing right in front of you, a mocking half-smile on his face. He shoves his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels a little as he stares down at you, and you refuse to look away, enough fury still in you to keep your terror at bay. "You're telling me you won't give in because then you think I'll just take what I want. And if I take you by force, you can tell yourself it couldn't be helped, that I was stronger than you, that I made you do something you didn't want to do."

"Fuck you!"

He laughs softly. "Oh, we'll get to that. Eventually. Once you stop fighting what you're feeling. Once you admit to yourself that you're mine. I may have gone through some – upgrades – but you _are_ still mine." He bent a little closer, still not touching you, but close enough that you could feel his breath as he spoke. "You want me, and you will accept that – eventually. I'll hear you say it before I touch you."

"Let me go." You glower at him, barely restraining yourself from taking a swing at his face. "You'll never hear me say it. I'll die first."

His smile grows and there's a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "Be careful what you wish for."


	3. Chapter 3

"Now you're threatening me. Wow, you evil assholes really know the way to a girl's heart," you sneer, and his smile fades a touch at your insolence.

"I could haul your pretty ass to hell. Let some of the scum down there soften you up for me. I've got the power to do that. I'm a Knight of Hell, sweetness, and I could snap your neck and have you on the rack before you could blink." He leans in a little closer. "I'd rather have you, warm and willing, topside. It's a lot more fun, and a lot less messy. But don't think for a minute that if you push me too far, you won't pay the consequences."

You stare back at him, still defiant even though your heart is pounding in terror. You finally look away, speaking quietly through clenched teeth. "Will you please let me go?"

He narrows his eyes, an arrogant pout on his plush lips before he grins, stepping back and gesturing with one arm. "Now was that so hard?"

You take one cautious step forward, then move quickly towards the hall. When his phone rings, you turn your head, surprised, slowing down as he answers.

"Sam? I left you an open tab at the bar. Knock yourself out." Your eyes widen at his words, and you take a couple of steps back into the room, listening. "And who is this?" Only hearing one side of the conversation is driving you crazy, but the look on his face tells you to keep quiet. "On my brother's phone?" You don't even realize you're drawing closer to him, your anxiety over Sam overriding your fear. "Is he dead?" You reach out and clutch at his sleeve, and his eyes flicker down to where you are touching him, then back to your face, his mouth held tight, jaw clenched. "And how do I know he's still alive?" You're close enough now to hear Sam's cry of agony, and the tinny echo of the voice at the other end.

"Proof of life."

"Dean!" Sam shouts, and you take a breath to answer, but a glare from your captor is enough to keep you silent, biting your lip as he continues.

"No, you listen to me." His voice was emotionless but chilling, razor-edged with murderous intent. "There's no trade. There's no meet-up. There's no nothing – except the 100% guarantee that, somewhere down the road, I will find you, and I will kill you." He listens to the voice on the other end, then responds coldly, "I told him to let me go. So whatever jam he's in now, that is his problem." You draw your hand back away, taking a step back as you stare at him in disbelief. "Yeah, you do that, 'cause he knows me. And he knows damn sure that if I am one thing, I am a man of my word."

He ends the call, and you swing with all your might, slapping him across the face, your hand going numb with the force of the blow. When you draw back your arm to do it again, your wrist is caught in a painful grip, his brow furrowed as he snarls at you. "I suggest you stop before you get hurt, sweetheart."

"He's your brother! You're just going to let someone torture and kill him, and not do anything about it? See, I told you – you're nothing like Dean. Dean Winchester would never let anything happen to Sam. You're a fucking evil son of a bitch, and _my_ Dean is dead!" You were shouting at him now, tears in your eyes as you think of Sam, trapped and in pain, or worse, dying. "If you're not going to help him, then fucking let me go so I can!"

"So you'd sacrifice yourself for Sam, huh?"

"Yes! Let me go help him. Please, damn it!"

He tilts his head, a calculating gleam in his eyes. "Simple solution, then. You agree to give yourself to me – completely – and I'll go get Sam out of the mess he got himself into."

Your eyes grow wide, and you stagger back a step. You stare into his face as a triumphant smirk curves his lips. "You… You would… make sure he's safe? If I…"

"Clock's ticking, sweetness. That fuckwad that's holding Sam didn't sound like he has much patience. So what's it gonna be?"

You close your eyes, unable to bear his condescending expression. "All right."

"And what do you want to say to me?"

Your eyes fly open, and you stare at him in disbelief. "You have got to be kidding me!"

"Poor Sam…"

"Fuck you!" An angry tear glides down your cheek, but he just stares back, waiting. "Fine. I want you, okay?"

He smirks, reaching towards you, running the back of his hand softly along your jaw line. "And what's my name?" His voice is soft, smoky, and you clamp your teeth together so hard it hurts.

But Sam's life is on the line. You take a deep breath and look him in the eye. "Dean."

He tilts your chin up as he leans in to kiss you chastely. "That's my girl." And then he's gone, and you are running up the stairs to the door. You jerk at the handle until your arms ache, then turn, your back against the cold metal surface, banging your head back against it in frustration before sinking down to the floor in cold despair.

—–

It's over an hour before you hear him calling your name, and you just sit there against the cold iron of the door, too defeated to move. Soon you hear his boots heavy on the metal stairs, coming to stand in front of you, but you don't look up. He just stands above you, looking down at you, silent, for what seems like hours. Then he's hunkering down in front of you, reaching a hand to tilt your face up, staring into your dead eyes. "I did warn you, didn't I?" You just stare back, mute, and he shakes his head. He reaches to scoop you up in his arms and carries you down the stairs, depositing you on the couch. "Get some sleep," he says, turning to walk away, but you call after him.

"Is Sam okay? Is he alive?"

He turns towards you, looking you in the eye. "Yeah. He's alive." You blink slowly, relief at the news washing over you, and then you lie down curled up on your side, pulling the throw over yourself and closing your eyes.

—–

You feel his lips on your neck, tongue flicking over your skin, his mouth softly sucking at the spot where you neck slopes down to meet your shoulder. He knows what that does to you…

Your eyes fly open, only this time it's not a dream. He is kneeling in front of the couch, and he raises his head at your gasp. "Just relax. You were enjoying this just a few seconds ago. I'll let you loose when you relax." As he bends to continue, you struggle to move, but you realize he has immobilized you once again. He ignores your panic, kissing and nibbling at your neck as he pulls the blanket down slowly, then slips your sweater down over your shoulder. Your mind screams at you, tells you that you should feel horrified, violated, sick… but you're not. Your body is responding to his touch, hungry for more, and when a soft, slow sigh escapes, he looks up into your eyes. You stare back, it's hard to breathe as he leans closer and kisses you, sucking gently on your bottom lip for a moment before his tongue glides lightly over it.

"Dean…" You breathe his name, a quiet whimper, and there's a soft growl in his throat as your kiss deepens. You give yourself over to the dark temptation, kissing him back with passionate abandon, and when you separate for a moment you realize you are free, your arms around his neck, your fingers in his hair.

"Did you miss me, baby?" He murmurs against your lips, and you nod, a tear sliding down your cheek as you surrender yourself to his seduction. He slants his mouth over yours, demanding, devouring. His hands are suddenly everywhere, heat flushing your skin where they touch, and you gasp, your eyes flying open wide as you feel his hand between your thighs. But you are still fully dressed, his arms are still braced against the couch, one hand on the arm and one on the back, and you look at him, a little thrill of fear intensifying the feeling. "See, there are some advantages," he rumbles, and you dig your fingers into his shoulders, bucking your hips up as you feel the sensation of him plunging two calloused fingers inside you, his thumb rubbing hard circles over your throbbing nub, and you could swear he was sucking one hard nipple into the heat of his mouth. He's staring at you, a voracious gleam in his eyes as he growls softly, "I wanna watch you come undone. I've missed watching you." The stimulation intensifies as he bends closer, whispering in your ear, "Come for me, baby," and you let out a hoarse cry as you quake, everything becoming bright and sharp, a flood of fierce pleasure washing over you and leaving you spent.


	4. Chapter 4

He's back to kissing your neck again, letting you come down from your high. He jerks his head upright suddenly, his eyes flashing obsidian, a snarl on his lips, and you shrink back against the couch as he speaks in a low growl. "Crowley. What the fuck do you want?"

"Time to put little Dean away, lover boy. Big Dean has some work to attend to. I'll be waiting for you with your usual libation."

The pompous, disembodied voice fades away, and Dean rises from his knees, reaching a hand for you. He pulls you to your feet and up into his arms, bending to kiss you, fever hot, and you can feel the strength of his need as he ruts against your hip. When he stops, you look up at him apprehensively, but his eyes are green again, and you sigh softly in relief. "I've gotta go pacify that douchebag. I'll be back, baby. We were just getting to the good part." He kisses you again, one hand cupping your ass and pressing you into his erection. Then he steps back abruptly, blowing out a frustrated little breath. "I'll be back as soon as I can." He puts a finger under your chin, tilting your face up until your eyes meet. "Be a good girl for me, put on something pretty."

You swallow hard, words eluding you, and you nod slowly. A slow, sexy smile curves his lips, and then he's gone. You drop back down to the couch, your head spinning as you try to wrap your mind around the last few hours. What the hell are you doing? Conflicting thoughts and emotions whirl in your head, want and guilt and fear… and love. Your chest aches with it. Anything – _anything –_ is better than the yawning abyss of loneliness and loss. Isn't it?

You wander the halls and rooms of the bunker aimlessly, letting your mind wander with you. Your worry about Sam is nagging at you as well – you haven't heard from him since Dean… Suddenly fear floods through you, and you fumble in your pocket for your phone, dialing Sam's number.

"Sam?" You can barely hear him when he answers, but hope and relief fills you, and a tear trickles down your face. "Sam, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I just – I had a run-in with… never mind, I'm back on Dean's trail."

"Are you driving?" You can hear faint sounds of an engine, of wind through an open window. He sounds exhausted.

"Yeah. Had to hot wire a pickup. Listen, Crowley called me. I know where they are. I'm going after him, Smalls."

"Sam, no! Sam, listen. Come home. Get some rest, let your arm heal. It's probably a trap, you know that."

"I don't want to lose him."

"I don't want to lose you! Sam, please…"

"Smalls, listen – I'm fine. I'll be fine. I just need to get him home." He's quiet for a few seconds, and then, "I need to bring Dean home."

"Please, Sam…." You almost tell him – but you're too afraid of Dean's threats, and you stifle a sob as you continue. "Sam, please be careful. You don't know what he'll do. Or Crowley. Sam…"

"I'll call when I have some news. Don't worry." He ends the call, and you stand there, battling with yourself, not even realizing that you're biting your lip until you taste the tang of blood on your tongue. You swear quietly, your eyes squeezed shut, your phone clutched tightly in your hand. Then you swipe over the screen and dial the number.

"Dean?"

"Oh, miss me already, sweetheart?" His voice is like warm honey, and you swallow hard against the guilty lump in your throat.

"Promise me you won't hurt him."

There's a second of dead silence, and you could swear the temperature drops. "Who?" he asks, his tone cold and calculating. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything. Crowley did. Sam said Crowley called him, told him where you'd be. Just promise me, Dean." You're starting to cry again, terror-stricken that you may have signed Sam's death warrant with this foolish call. "I swear, I'll do anything you want. Just please don't kill your brother."

"You know, as tempting as that sounds, I'm beginning to think maybe you have just a touch too much concern for my little pain-in-the-ass brother."

"No, Dean, it's not like that. He - he's family. I just…" He interrupts your frantic attempt at explanation before you can go any further.

"Calm down. Just remember, I'm the jealous type. But right now I'm more in the mood to rip Crowley's head off. You did the right thing, calling to warn me. I can handle my baby brother without tearing him into bloody chunks, so don't worry. I'll be by later to collect on that promise, sweetness. Anything I want… mmm–mmm–mmm."

The call ends, and you stand there, shaking, desperately hoping that you did the right thing. You drop your phone to the table top and rush towards the liquor cabinet, pouring yourself a generous tumbler of whiskey and drinking almost half of it in one huge gulp. It burns, all the way down, a knot of fire in your belly that starts spreading through your body, and you drop down into a nearby chair, bottle still in hand, to wait for whatever news will come your way.

—–

You wake up much later curled up in the chair, your mouth dry and your head pounding. You hear Sam's shout, hear footsteps on the metal stairs, and you struggle to clear the cobwebs from your brain as you stumble to your feet. "Sam? Are you okay?" you yell in answer, rushing towards the stairs, and then you freeze as your eyes meet Dean's frigid stare.

"Aren't you even gonna ask about me, sweetness?" His look is feral, his voice dark and dangerous, but you take a step towards him, and Sam speaks sharply.

"Stop, Smalls. This is not Dean. You need to stay away. At least until I cure him." He shoves Dean forward, and you finally notice the shackles around his ankles, the chains linking his wrists, the metal carved with symbols that render him powerless. You follow behind as Sam wrestles him down long hallways, then into the storeroom serving as a front for the dungeon. He flicks the switch, and the shelves shift and swing, opening to the sigil-painted prison. A huge devil's trap covers the largest portion of the concrete floor, a heavy, thick-timbered wooden chair bolted to the middle. Dean begins to struggle violently as Sam forces him into the chair, throwing holy water in his face from a flask he had hidden in his sling. He drops coil after coil of heavy rope around Dean's chest, then moves behind him to slip the sling from his arm and tighten the knots holding him in place.

Sam moves around to the side, strapping his brother's forearms to the heavy wooden arms of the chair with more rope, tying it securely. Dean lunges, as much as he is able, teeth bared in animalistic growls, but Sam doggedly continues, throwing more holy water in his face when Dean snaps at him like a rabid dog. You stand watching, horrified, unable to look away as Sam finishes binding what used to be his big brother, now sitting with arms, legs and chest bound tightly to the huge chair in the center of the room.

Sam takes a large key out of his pocket, unlocking the shackles around Dean's ankles, laying them on the desk behind him. "I'll be back, Dean. And I will save you, if it's the last thing I do." He grabs your arm, forcing you from the room with him, as Dean's chilling laugh echoes behind you.

"You're gonna save me? You'd better hope somebody saves you, little brother. Because I'm gonna reach down your throat and rip your lungs out."

Sam pushes the shelves back into place, closing off the room, and then pulls you out into the hall, closing the door and locking it behind him. You look up at him, shaking with shock and fear, and he grabs you, holding you tight with his good arm as you burst into sobs against his chest.

"It's okay, I promise, it's gonna be okay. I'm gonna cure him. We'll get him back." You cling to him for a few moments longer before backing away, looking up into his bruised and weary face.

"How, Sam? How do you fix this?" You desperately want to believe him, but it seems so unrealistic, especially when you've seen just a sample of Dean's demonic power.

"There's a cure. But I've got to go get some blood, some consecrated human blood. We'll inject him with it." You're still staring up at him, doubt fighting with the hope he's offering you, and right now you can't decide what's winning. "You have to trust me, okay? Listen, I'll be gone for a while. Just stay away from him while I'm gone. Understand? He's not the Dean you know, and he's dangerous."

You finally nod in answer, and step back. He bends to drop a kiss on top of your head before turning to go, leaving you staring after him silently.


	5. Chapter 5

You're still standing there, arms wrapped around yourself, when he calls out your name. He doesn't sound angry now. His voice beckons you, warm and seductive. "Come on, sweetness. Are you gonna let me sit here in the dark all by myself?" You stare at the door, trying not to think about how he kissed you, how he made you feel - how much you miss him. You had been unhappily resigned to the fact that he was gone – unreachable. But now… now he's here, and telling yourself it isn't really him just isn't working. No one has ever made you feel the way he does, and you crave him with everything in you. He responds to your thoughts as if you had spoken aloud, further weakening your resistance. "Baby, nobody else ever made me feel the way you do either. Not before - and not now." You put your hand on the doorknob, and he continues, his voice luring you, making you lean towards the sound of it, wanting. "I can't even touch you right now, Sammy made sure of that. At least let me look at you."

You close your eyes for a moment, then open the door and flip the switch. The shelves swing back, the lights come on, and you look at him staring back at you hungrily. "You can come closer. I won't bite. Unless you want me to," he smiled a little, almost teasing, and you look down, your internal voice loud and insistent, telling you this is a bad idea. You look back up at him again, and his eyes are almost pleading. "I'm aching for you, baby girl. _Aching_."

The naked want in his voice ramps up your heart rate and sets you tingling. "I can't let you go, Dean. I can't."

"I'm not asking you to, sweetness. I just – I need some relief, you've got me all wound up." Your eyes move down his bound body to the impressive bulge in his jeans, and he shifts uncomfortably in the chair. "Can't even get myself off. Kinda tied up here."

Holy shit, are you really thinking about this? You kick your internal voice in the teeth, shove it out and close the door. You move slowly towards him, tense, ready to spring back if he makes a sudden move. But he sits there, docile, his tongue sweeping over his bottom lip as he looks up at you from beneath those long, dark lashes. He thrusts up a little, vainly trying to gain some friction against his zipper as you bend to kiss him, and the sound he makes as your lips touch his makes you weak. He's straining a little against his ropes, unable to touch you, and you watch his face as you climb onto his lap, straddling him, your knees angling out beneath the arms of the chair as you grind yourself down on him. You kiss him again, and his tongue slips between your lips, plunging in frantically as his hips buck up under you.

"Fuck..." he moans, deep and needy, and you look down into his eyes, a naughty little thrill running through you at the momentary power you have over him. You move to stand, and he starts to say, "No," but you put a finger to his lips, promise in your eyes. He kisses your fingertip, then sucks it briefly into his mouth before you pull it away, standing in front of him and undoing the button and zipper of your jeans.

His eyes burn into you as you turn away, removing your clothes slowly, the noises he's making spurring you on. You turn to face him again, and he almost growls, his teeth dragging over his kiss-swollen bottom lip. "Even better than I remember. Better than my dreams. Yeah, I've been dreaming about you, baby. About the way you feel, the way you look, _fuck -_ the way you taste. Do you dream about me?"

You reach for his zipper, and he hisses at the contact. "Yes. All the time." You work his jeans and boxers down just far enough to free him, and you just stare into his eyes, your own desperate desire throbbing between your thighs. He bares his teeth a little as you climb back onto his lap, but as you reach down to guide him into you, he stops you with one word.

"Wait." He's staring at your breasts like a starving man, and you raise up on your knees until he can bend his head far enough to lick over your nipple, then suck it between his lips, humming his approval as you put your arms around his neck, your fingers in his hair. You gasp softly as he suckles at first one, then the other, his tongue and teeth making you tremble, and then you cry out as he latches on to the soft flesh of one breast, marking you.

"Dean..." you whisper, and his eyes are gleaming with lust as he lifts his head.

"I can smell you." He groans, deep in his chest, looking up at you as he issues a soft command. "Touch yourself, sweetness. Touch yourself, and then let me taste you."

You whimper weakly as you obey, reaching down between your thighs and running your fingers through the slick heat there, then lifting them to his lips. He closes his eyes, his tongue darting out, then his lips parting and sucking your fingers inside as he moans blissfully. You wait until he pulls back with a satisfied hum, then reach down and grasp his erection, guiding him to your entrance. You sink down on him slowly, your hands clasped behind his neck, watching his face as he is slowly sheathed within you. His cock stretches you deliciously, and you can't move, not yet, not without falling apart too soon. You look into his eyes, and your heart stops for a moment. Just for one moment, the time between one blink and the next, you see Dean looking back at you. _Your_ Dean. The Dean that gazes at you not just with lust, but with love.

And then it's gone, and he bucks beneath you, making you gasp and clench tight around him. He swears softly, and your body moves of its own accord, not willing to wait for your mind to catch up. You gyrate over him, a rhythmic dance that has you both panting, soft groans and moans filling the room. He's struggling against his bonds, frustrated at being unable to touch you, and you bend closer to him, kissing him as you grind against him wantonly. Then you lean back a little, letting him watch as you rock onto him harder and harder, driving him deep, and you begin to quake with the beginnings of your orgasm. He gets there a few seconds before you, and you move in close, holding on for dear life as your world begins to spin. He bites down just above your collarbone to mark you again as he throbs and pulses inside you with a low, guttural groan, sending you over the edge as you hold his head to your chest, whimpering helplessly at the intensity of sensation flooding through you.

His lips are moving over your skin, little touches of his tongue, gentle nips of his teeth as you cling to him, still reeling with little aftershocks that force soft moans from him as you convulse around him. With one final shudder, you pull back, then bend to kiss him. It's like oxygen, and you never want to go back to the vacuum that is living without him.

He stares up at you intently as you lift your head, your fingers tracing over his face as you look down into his eyes. "I love you, Dean. I don't care what you are."

There's a calculating gleam in his eye as he stares back at you. "Then help me get out of here."

You look down, taking a shaky breath, and slowly moving off of him, pulling your sweater and underwear back on as you answer. "I can't. I won't betray Sam, not even for you. And he may be able to help you, to bring you back to me."

"Who says I want his help? I'm fine the way I am, baby. Better than fine. I'm no normal demon, I'm a Knight of Hell. And for all you know, Sam's 'cure' could kill me."

"You don't know that. And I won't let that happen." You finish dressing, turning to look at him again. "I'm sorry, I have to leave you before he gets back. We're going to help you, Dean. The real you would want that."

"And if it doesn't work?" He's glaring at you now, quietly furious at your refusal to help him escape, and you force yourself to look back at him, to stand your ground.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," you answer, and turn to leave. As the shelves swing together, you hear him call out, trying to ignore the sting of his angry words.

"Thanks for the fuck, sweetheart. Next time maybe I'll tie you down."


	6. Chapter 6

You shower and change, wondering if you'd wake up soon and realize it's all been a dream. Everything, the whole situation, seems so surreal. As you zip up your jeans, you remember. Dean is still sitting there exposed. Shit. If Sam sees…

You swear under your breath, rushing to the dungeon, praying that he didn't get back home while you were in the shower. The door is still locked, and you feel relief flood through you, although you dread walking back into that room. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to prepare yourself, and flip the switch.

Dean is smirking as you walk in, and you studiously avoid looking into his eyes. "Well… decided to come back for sloppy seconds?"

"Shut up," you respond, bending to yank his clothing back into place with very little help from him, desperately trying not to touch him in the process.

"I was kinda looking forward to hearing you explain that to Sammy. Sure know how to take the fun out of things." You refuse to answer as you finish, then step back, and your heart stops as you hear Sam's voice behind you.

"Explain what to me?" He does not sound pleased, and Dean's lips curl in an evil grin as you glare at him in warning.

You take a breath and turn to face the music. "What I'm doing in here," you bluff, praying that he's too exhausted and distracted to detect your discomfort.

"Well? What are you doing in here, Smalls? I told you, he's dangerous. And yet, here you are, inside the damn devil's trap."

"Sam, I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have come in here. But I was worried those ropes might be too tight. I was just checking…"

"He's a demon." Sam's pissed, his words clipped, his mouth tight, and he turns to set a small cooler on the desk as you step towards him, reaching your hand to touch his arm.

"He's still Dean, Sam. It's still Dean's body. I just wanted…" You can't even finish, Sam's anger is not something you can bear right now, and tears sting your eyes. "I'm sorry, Sam. Please don't be mad at me."

He still refuses to look at you, trying to get himself under control. "You don't understand how fucking lethal he is, Smalls. You don't know what he's capable of, what he could do to you."

"Oh, I think she knows," Dean throws in sarcastically, and you whirl to glower at him as you respond.

"Shut the fuck up." He lifts a sardonic eyebrow at you, then quirks another amused smile as he looks away, and you turn back to Sam. He looks down at you, taking a breath and looking remorseful as you blink away the tears.

He speaks softly, one huge paw reaching to cradle the side of your face. "I'm sorry. I just… I don't want you getting hurt." You nod, and he kisses the top of your head gently as Dean huffs out a soft, derisive little snort. You both ignore him, and you gesture towards the cooler.

"Did you get it?" He nods, taking a deep breath, and pulling a small box containing syringes from his jacket pocket. You look up at him, gnawing nervously at your lip. "Are you sure, Sam?"

He swallows hard, his jaw working, and gives a short nod. "We have no choice, Smalls." You watch uneasily as he readies the syringe, filling it with blood. "You don't have to watch," he says softly, and you look at him resolutely.

"I'm staying." He doesn't argue, just nods and turns towards Dean, who is staring back with a homicidal gleam in his eyes.

* * *

You stumble into your room, dropping to the floor at the foot of the bed and hugging your knees to your chest. Your breathing is harsh and ragged, your chest hurts, and little incoherent sounds are trapped in your tightened throat.

You had stayed as long as you could, squeezed your eyes shut at Dean's agonized screams, tried to ignore the cruel things he was saying to Sam, terrified that he would turn his malicious contempt your direction. He hadn't. But he had looked straight at you as his body went through painful spasms, the sanctified blood burning through his veins like acid, and you could see through his hate-filled glare to the desperate pleading beneath. It was tearing you apart.

You had found Dean unconscious when you had followed Sam into the dungeon to give him the next injection. You had watched, terrified, as Sam slapped him, shook him, finally getting a reaction. Sam was exhausted, and Dean had been vicious, attacking Sam where it hurt the most – family. You had run from the room as Sam had jabbed the needle into Dean's neck, unable to watch the two men you loved the most in this world tear each other apart. Dean's screams had followed you, echoing in your ears as you ran away.

You rock back and forth on the floor, too wrecked to even shed a tear. This treatment, torture, whatever it was you were doing to him – was it even working? He didn't seem any better. Sicker, yes. But more human? You struggle within yourself, unwilling to give him up, even as he is now – and what if this kills him? What if you lose him, this time for good? Sam is scared of the same thing, you know that, even though he hasn't spoken to you.

"Are you okay?" Sam's voice startles you, and you look up into his face, his expression haggard and beaten.

"I don't know. Sam… it's not working. What if we're just slowly killing him? We don't know…"

"I know. Believe me, I know." Sam's eyes sparkle with tears, his mouth working wordlessly for a moment before he can continue. "We have no choice. Dean – the real Dean – wouldn't want to live like this. I know that. And you know it, too, Smalls. I know you don't want to lose him. Fuck, do I know. I don't want to lose him, either, and I don't want him to suffer like he is now. But we don't have a choice." He turns and walks away, and you rest your forehead on your knees, your insides churning.

You sit there for a while, unaware of the passage of time, until a scuffling sound makes you raise your head. Sam is skidding to a halt in your doorway, his face tight with panic. "Smalls, get out of the bunker. Now. He's loose. I don't know how, but he's loose."

Your heart is hammering in your chest as you jump to your feet, and Sam takes off down the hall. You don't even have shoes on, but you don't care – you just know you have to get out. Even with what you've gone through, with what you've done with Dean already, you've terrified beyond the capacity to think straight. You run down the hall, through the kitchen, and you've almost made it to the doorway when he grabs your arm, throwing you violently against the wall, his arm across your throat. "You make a sound, and you're dead. And then I'll kill Sammy. Understand?" His voice is soft and dark, black velvet like the color of his eyes as he looks down at you. You nod, almost numb with fright, but he leans in and kisses you hard, forcing his tongue into your mouth even though you're too scared to respond. "You're coming with me. You fight me, and I'll stay here and flay Sammy an inch at a time while you watch. You come peacefully, and he lives another day."

You nod, your face working as you desperately fight the urge to cry, and he kisses you again, one large hand squeezing your breast as he crushes you against the wall. Then he's grabbing you by the wrist, yanking hard as he pulls you behind him, and you scramble to keep up with his long strides.

He drags you through room after room, a huge hammer in his free hand as his eyes sweep back and forth, searching. You are through the door and down the stairs in the garage when the lights go out, alarms sounding and red emergency lights flaring to life, washing everything in a bloody glow. "Nice try, Sammy," he mutters, shoving you into the passenger seat of the Impala. He climbs into the driver's side, starting the engine, and backs up with a squeal of the tires before slamming it into drive and putting his foot to the floor. The black beast of a car crashes through the garage door, and then you're flying down the road, cowering against the door as Dean cranks the radio.

"Where are we going?" you manage to ask, you voice shaking. He looks over at you and grins.

"Wherever the hell I want."


	7. Chapter 7

Baby rocks you to sleep in spite of yourself, and you wake, slightly disoriented, as Dean pulls into a parking space in front of a motel door.

"Have a nice nap, sweetness?" His voice kick-starts your pulse, and everything floods back. Adrenaline works faster than coffee, and you straighten in the seat, fully alert.

"Where are we?" you ask - not that it matters. You don't really have a choice in the travel plans.

"Honestly, I didn't pay that much attention. I think we're somewhere in Iowa. Wherever we are, there's a lot of corn." He looks over at you, probably estimating the trouble he'll have getting you to cooperate – but there's no fight in you for the moment. "Got us a room. Hungry?"

"Kind of lost my appetite."

You can see his expression – unreadable, stoic - in your peripheral vision. "Suit yourself." He gets out of the car and walks to your door, opening it and waving an arm in sarcastic invitation. "Let's go."

Your body is stiff from the long ride, and every muscle is taut with tension as you climb out. He shuts the door and latches on to your arm, not hard, but enough to know that if you try to run – well, you won't get away. He unlocks the door to your room, ushering you inside, and closes it behind him. "Isn't this cozy?" he remarks, dropping his keys on the table and leaning back on it as he tucks his hands in his pockets, silently observing you as you look around.

You finally turn to face him, your arms tucked around your waist. "What do you want from me, Dean?"

He huffs out a sarcastic little snort, cocking an eyebrow as he stares back. "Oh, come on. You could get laid in any bar in any podunk little town anywhere you went. Why did you drag me along with you?"

"Maybe I have specific tastes."

"Bullshit!" His smart-ass smile starts to fade, the sparkle of humor becoming sharp with irritation.

"Maybe I'll regret it sooner than later. But the reason doesn't matter. What matters is, you're still mine. I wanted you with me. And I get what I want. One way or another."

You raise your head, staring back at him insolently. "I don't buy that. Not for one minute."

He folds his arms and tilts his head, his eyes narrowing a bit. "Okay, Dr. Phil – enlighten me."

You fold your arms as well, defiant, refusing to back down. "You couldn't leave me, because you love me. The part of you that's still really _my_ Dean loves me." He laughs softly, shaking his head, but you continue. "I saw it in your eyes. There was a second, when we were… There was a moment that you looked at me, and it was the real you. Deny it if you want, but I saw it. And that was before you had a single injection. So don't tell me that you can't be saved. And don't tell me that my Dean is gone. I know both are lies."

"You wanna talk about denial? I loved your holier-than-thou sweet little ass riding my cock, damn straight I did. Only thing that disappointed me was that Sammy didn't walk in on you going to town on his big bad demon brother."

The sting of his words destroyed any restraint you still had, your temper flaring full force. "You're a fucking asshole! If you think I'm staying with you, you're crazy. If you think you're touching me again, you're crazy!" You were shouting, fists clenched, too furious to be afraid of the darkening expression on his face.

"You are pushing your luck, sweetheart."

"Yeah, well, get used to it," you snap, and turn to head for the bathroom, where you intend to lock yourself in. You don't make it two steps before he's grabbing your arm, spinning you around and throwing you against the wall, pinning you with his body, his hands gripping your wrists as you try to fight back. Your eyes spark with reckless anger, teeth clenched as you continue to mock him. "What's the matter, Dean? I thought big bad demons liked fight in their women."

A slow, predatory smile slides across his face as he slips one hand under the edge of your shirt and along your waist. "Trust me, sweetheart, I can handle anything you can dish out. And the fucking hell of it for you is – you want it. You can be pissed all you want. But you want me. And if there's gotta be a little extra foreplay before the main event, I'm fine with that."

"You are one cocky son of a bitch," you grit out, your jaw aching from the pressure you're putting on it. He laughs – actually laughs – and then thrusts against you, and you catch your breath at the hard length of him very evident against your lower belly.

"That I am, sweetness. That I am." He grins, looking down at you, and then pushes off the wall, leaving you fighting the desire to slide down to the floor, trembling in spite of your rebellion. "Why don't you go take a nice, hot bath - you'll feel better."

"Sorry, I'm a little short on wardrobe changes. Kidnapping is so inconvenient sometimes," you fire back, but he just smiles.

"Let me worry about that. When you're finished, you'll have everything you need." You stare at him, not trusting him an inch, but what choice did you have? You straighten up, walking into the bathroom with your head held high, refusing to cower before him. "Oh, and don't worry – the room will be protected while I'm gone. Unfortunately, that means you won't be able to get out, either. Enjoy your bath."

You slam the door behind you, cranking the lock, even though you know it will never hold him back if he wants in. There is no response, only silence, and you lean back on the counter, your face in your hands. You grab some towels and the tiny bottles and soaps from the counter top, starting the water running in the tub. You make it as hot as you can stand it, climbing in slowly after shedding your clothes, then settling in and leaning back, your eyes closed. The hell of it is – he's right. You do want him. When he had you against that wall, what you really wanted was for him to kiss you, hard, and take you right there and then. "What the hell is wrong with me?" you whisper, and sink farther down into the water.

—–

You stay there as long as you can, nervous about what will be waiting for you on the other side of that door. But you can only hide for so long. And besides, you've always been more of a face-it-head-on kind of girl.

You wrap a towel around yourself, holding it tight as you open the door. He's not in the room, but there's a mound of shopping bags on the bed, and you approach them cautiously, not sure what to expect.

There's an entire bag of toiletries – including your favorite perfume. Clothes – jeans, tops, sleep shirts, even a gorgeous black dress. Shoes. A huge bag of lingerie. Nice lingerie, the kind you'd never be able to afford. You stare down at this bounty, almost wishing you had the strength to refuse it. But it was either accept his gift, or wear a towel.

And then you feel his presence behind you, his hands gliding up over your shoulders, squeezing gently as his lips touch your neck. "You like?" You remember to inhale – why are you always so breathless around him? - unable to form a response. "I can get you anything you want, sweetness. We can go wherever you want, do whatever you want. Just say the word."

It's hard to form a thought, to focus on anything but his lips against your skin, his hands kneading your shoulders. "Anything I want?" He nods, his breath hot on your skin as he nuzzles against your neck, his lips nibbling just beneath your ear. "How about my freedom?" Your words are more wistful than contentious, and you feel him smile.

He turns you towards him, his face darkly beautiful, dangerous, and you know you don't have the strength to resist him. "I don't think you really want that, do you?" He bends slowly towards you, and when his lips touch yours, you melt into him. "I didn't think so," he murmurs against your lips, and then he takes possession, sending any coherent thought you had into the farthest corners of your mind. You are focused intently on him, every point of contact between you sending pulses of pleasure to your core, and you barely notice when your towel drops to the floor between you.

With a tiny motion of his fingers, his gifts to you slide from the bed to the floor. He never stops kissing you as he sweeps an arm behind your knees, lifting you into his arms. Another little gesture from his hand turns the covers down, and he lays you gently on the bed. He stands for just a moment, long enough to reach behind him and yank his shirts off over his head, staring down at you intently as he quickly strips down. And then he's lowering himself over you, his mouth hot and wet as he tugs a sensitive nipple between his teeth before sucking hard, one hand kneading at its twin, pinching until you whimper softly. His other hand moves between your thighs, and he moans against your breast as he glides his fingers through your slick.

He slips two fingers inside you, and you suck in a long, slow breath, your body arching up off the bed. You start to reach for him, your fingers craving to tangle in his hair, to hold him closer, but he lets out a low chuckle, and you realize you can't move your arms. "No touching. Just be a good girl and take what I give you." He bites down on your nipple, enough pressure to make you squirm beneath him, and then begins to flick his tongue over the tender nub as he curls his fingers inside you, pumping and stroking within you, brushing repeatedly over that spot inside you that he's always been able to zero in on, sending sparks through every nerve. His thumb rubs roughly over your clit and you cry out, clenching around his fingers and coming hard, your head spinning, your hands clawing at the sheets.

When you can focus again, he is suckling gently at your over-sensitive breast, slowly removing his fingers from you. He begins to rub softly at your clit, slowly moving his way down your body, stopping to nibble and nip briefly here and there. He reaches the inside of your thigh at long last, and you gasp as he bites down, then sucks hard, marking you. He hums as he cleans the taste of you from his fingers, then puts his face close, breathing deep before running the flat of his tongue over you, his deep groan sending vibrations through you and making you tremble.

"Please," you whimper as he explores you thoroughly with his tongue, and he laughs softly as you writhe against him.

"I think you've got at least one more in you, sweetness. Before I fuck you until you can't walk straight." You buck up into him as he sucks hard on your clit, and when you think you can't stand any more, he nips at it. You scream his name, your voice breaking as you almost sob with the violence of the orgasm that slams through you. You want to crush your thighs around him and hold him there forever, you want to push him away, you want it to stop, you never want it to end.

Your breath is coming in soft little rasping sobs as he eases you down, and he rises to his knees, dragging the back of his hand over his mouth and chin. He stares down at you, almost absent-mindedly stroking his hand over his cock, his tongue playing over his lips as he hums in satisfaction at your flavor. He bends to kiss your lips and then your neck, mumbling against your skin, his voice dark chocolate, sinful and smooth. "You taste like cinnamon, my spicy girl…" He nibbles at your neck, your shoulder, letting your heart rate slow and your breathing calm before he moves to speak softly next to your ear. "And now it's my turn."


	8. Chapter 8

"Be a good girl for me and roll over." You're still trembling from the intensity of your last orgasm, and he has to help you move. He tucks a pillow under your head and lets his hands wander over your skin, trailing down your back and over your hips, goosebumps blooming over your flesh as you shiver. He slips his hands beneath you to your lower abdomen, lifting you to your knees, still caressing you, pulling the hair back from your face as you lay there with your eyes closed. He licks the shell of your ear, then speaks in a low rumble that makes every muscle tighten in anticipation. "I'm gonna fuck you now, sweetness. And you're gonna scream for me again. You're gonna feel me for days."

You hear yourself whimpering weakly as he moves behind you, guiding himself to your entrance, and then he grips your hips hard and drives into you with a growl, forcing the air from your lungs. Your hands clutch at the pillow as he fucks you hard and fast, the whole world narrowing to the slick drag of him within you, his purely primal taking of you, the impact of each violent thrust, the collision of his body against yours that you know will leave you with an ache between your thighs. The sounds he is making are animalistic, and you're glad you can't see his face, because you can sense that in this moment he is all demon, and you know what you would see in his eyes.

He slows, pausing long enough to pull you upright, your back against his chest, and he places one hand against your throat, forcing your head back against his shoulder, the other fiercely gripping your breast. And then he is pounding up into you again, the angle shooting shocks through you with every stroke, jolting ever-louder sounds from your throat until you scream, your voice wrecked and raw, as you come with explosive force. For a moment you are inside your own heartbeat, everything muted and distant. When you are once again aware, he is shouting as he pulses and swells within you, the heat of his release flooding into you as you go limp in his arms.

He's panting harshly behind you, neither of you moving for a few seconds. And then he lets you collapse to the bed and pulls away from you quickly as if burned, stumbling a few steps away. You expect arrogant commentary, self-satisfied remarks, but he doesn't speak. You manage to turn to your back, slowly sitting up to reach for the sheet to cover yourself. He is leaning forward, both hands braced on the table, his head hanging slightly, completely silent. You clutch the sheet to your chest as he turns towards you, his brow furrowed with confusion. He looks lost, almost bewildered. Then his expression changes and he springs forward, the dark anger and contempt on his face making you draw back, startled.

"You think you're something special? You're mine, and I use what's mine when and if I feel like it. But I can find a willing whore anywhere, so don't get any ideas. You mean nothing to me." Your feel the bite of his cruel words, your eyes stinging with tears at the unexpected attack, and then he's in your face, his voice coldly furious, his eyes black and empty as he spits, "Stop looking at me like that!" and then disappears from your sight.

—

You make yourself move after a few minutes, shocked tears drying unheeded on your face as you move slowly to the bathroom to clean yourself up. Then you dig through the bags and get dressed, opting for a denim skirt, since the idea of pulling on a pair of jeans at the moment makes you cringe. You debate with yourself for only a second before heading to the door, checking, standing there stunned for a brief moment when you find it unlocked. You feel adrenaline flood through you, and you move as quickly as your weary body will allow to the office, bursting through the door and moving to ring the bell on the counter. "I need to use your phone," you say, your voice raspy, and the girl behind the counter shoves it towards you.

"No long distance."

"Collect," you respond, and she nods, going back to her soap opera in the back office. You dial Sam's number, holding your breath as it rings and he answers, quickly accepting the charges.

"Smalls! Are you okay? Where are you? Did he hurt you?" You are crying now, telling him the name of the motel, afraid that at any moment Dean will appear again. Before you can finish, you feel a hand on your shoulder, and whirl around to see Castiel behind you. He touches two fingers to your forehead and you feel your stomach lurch, and then you are back in the bunker, collapsing to your knees as Sam rushes towards you. "Hey – hey," he's taking your limp body in his arms, looking to Cas as he rises to his feet. "Cas, is she all right? Did he hurt her?"

"I thought it was wise to remove her from that place before checking."

"Well, she's here now!" Sam says impatiently, glaring at the angel, and moving to lay you on the couch. Cas lays a hand on your head, and you feel a flash of warmth flow through you before he stands and steps back.

"She is not badly injured."

Sam kneels down beside you, one hand on your face as he stares down at you, his frantic worry subsiding only a little. "Smalls?" A sob forces its way between your lips, and he gathers you in his arms as you let yourself fall apart.

You cling to him for a while, letting him ground you before you begin. Then you draw back from him and tell him everything, every detail you can remember from the first time Dean had appeared, every word he had said. You tell him about the glimpse you saw in his eyes of your Dean, the real Dean. The cold, harsh things he had said before leaving you. You watch the emotions play over his face as you unburden yourself, and when you finally stop, you both sit there in silence. You are completely spent, physically and emotionally, and you stare at your hands in your lap, half-expecting him to ask you to leave.

"I'm sorry." His voice is quiet, broken as he speaks, and you look up at him, stunned.

"Sam…" You stare at his face until he finally looks at you. "Sam, you have nothing to be sorry for. I'm the one who wasn't strong enough. I should have…"

"I shouldn't have left you here alone."

"No. You had to go after him. We both want him back so badly, Sam. I'm terrified of him, but… I don't know, it seemed better than being without him." You hang your head, and you feel his arm around your shoulders again, pulling you close.

"I know, Smalls. I know."


	9. Chapter 9

The atmosphere around the bunker is subdued, almost melancholy. You and Sam go about your days, each lost in your own introspection and self-recrimination. You go through the motions, searching for answers to questions that may not even exist any longer, digging for solutions to a problem that you have no control over, but there is no other compass to guide you. Dean is the heart that has left a gaping hole in your chest and in Sam's, but the search for him has been futile.

The last few nights have been almost sleepless for you, your brain finally shutting down out of sheer exhaustion by the early hours of the morning. Tonight you give in, take a couple of shots before you even lie down, hoping against hope that you'll just be able to fade into nothingness for a few hours, no thoughts of him to torment you for just a little while.

You're actually starting to drift off, turning to your side, warm and drowsy beneath the comforter, when you sense him. There's been no noise, it's pitch black in the room, but you know he's there. Strangely, there is no fear. You open your eyes, staring into the darkness as you speak softly.

"How did you get in?"

You hear him take a breath, silent for a beat before he answers. "Same way I got out of those cuffs. The more human blood Sam pumped into me, the less power the demon sigils had over me. So all the warding he had Cas do – waste of time."

"Why bother coming at all? I mean nothing to you – remember? " You know the bitterness, the hurt, is coming through in your voice, but you just can't make yourself care about whether or not it will set him off. You hear him move, and then he's standing next to the bed looking down at you. You snap at him, keeping your voice low. "If you're going to kill me, just do it. Get it over with. I'm done fighting you." You hear yourself say the words, and somewhere in the back of your mind the thought floats through that you have reached the bottom.

You feel the mattress dip as he sits on the edge of the bed, and you close your eyes, waiting for the blade or the hands on your throat. His whisper is intense, quietly desperate. "What did you do to me?"

Your eyes fly open, and you stare up at the shadowed form above you. "What?"

"Did you use a spell? A curse?" He takes hold of your shoulders, and your heart rate begins to speed up.

"I did nothing to you. We shot you up with sanctified human blood."

He leans down, close to you, and the edge to his quiet words is scaring you. "No. There was nothing wrong with me. Not until you. Not until I was with you. What – did – you – do?" His grip is tightening, becoming painful, and you take a shaking breath, fear roaring back to life in your chest.

"Dean, you have to believe me..."

"You haunt me every minute of every day." His teeth are clenched, the words forcing themselves out, and you let out a small sound as his fingers dig like talons into your upper arms. He bends closer still, and you can feel his breath on your face, his lips nearly touching yours. "My blood is on fire. _I crave you_."

Then he is kissing you, crushing his lips to yours, greedy, voracious, until you can't breathe, struggling under the onslaught until he stops for just a moment as you gasp for air. He rips the comforter from you and kisses you again, his hands roaming your body, and slowly your arms raise to pull him closer. You whimper into his mouth as one hand moves between your thighs, holding you tight for a few seconds before rubbing over you hard, up and down as your body responds to his touch, thrusting up against him.

Suddenly he raises his head, spinning you sideways on the bed and pulling your legs off the edge as he drops to the floor between your knees, ripping your panties from your body. A low moan vibrates in his throat as he buries his face in you, and then you feel the hot, wet press of his tongue as it enters you briefly before laving over every secret part of you while you squirm under him. He slips one arm beneath the small of your back, angling you up to him as his lips suck lightly at your soft, yielding flesh before moving to your throbbing clit. "Deeeeaaan," you groan obscenely, and he holds your body tight as he ravages you, not letting you escape from the intensity. You can't breathe, every cell in your body is poised on the brink of detonation, and the sensation of two thick digits slipping inside you to stroke over your sweet spot sets you off.

You desperately claw at the pillow next to you, biting into it as you let go a muffled scream, your legs quaking, muscles contracting, pulling him even closer. He is moaning, wild, uncontrolled, his fingers curling, rubbing over that sensitive place within you while his tongue and lips consume you. He finally slows when you go limp beneath him, a second orgasm leaving you helpless, too spent at the moment to do more than whine softly.

He's kissing the insides of your thighs, your lower belly, nibbling along your ribs. He stops long enough to stand, moving your legs back onto the bed, and you hear him undressing before you feel him crawl over you. He pulls at your shirt, working it up and over your head, the hot length of him a brand against your cool skin. His mouth is at one breast, his hand cupping the other, kneading at it rhythmically as your fingers grasp at his hair. Then he is guiding himself into you, a slow, sweet penetration that drags moans from both of you. He holds himself in to the limit, and he is so still that you can feel him pulsing within you. It's bliss and torment at the same time, and you think you will die if he doesn't move.

And then he does move, sensual, languid, sending ripples of pleasure through you, radiating from your core and spreading through you, every nerve alive and singing. He holds himself above you as he rocks into you, and you curl your legs over his, stretched out and meeting every thrust. He shifts just a little, drags over your sweet spot, exhaling sharply as you constrict around him, and you feel the muscles in his thighs tense as he slowly picks up momentum.

He gathers you in his arms and moves quickly, rolling to his back, and you let out a soft cry. His hands move to tangle in your hair as he pulls you in for a kiss, drinking you in desperately. You break from him, almost reluctantly, bracing your hands on his shoulders as you draw your legs up, gyrating over him as he throws his head back with a low growl. He is in the deepest part of you, and you feel as if he is piercing both body and soul as you move together, sinuous, as one. You feel his hands glide up the length of your thighs, caressing, grasping, and you begin to tremble above him as the tension builds within you.

"Dean… please..." you whimper softly, and he moves suddenly, quickly, clutching you to his chest and rolling you over again to your back. He hesitates for only a heartbeat, then begins stroking into you smoothly, harder with each thrust until he is driving into you with purpose. He raises up on his elbows and fucks into you hard as you begin to make inarticulate noises, your nails digging into his biceps, your legs clenched around his hips, straining to meet him. When he reaches between you, one touch sets you off, and you throw your head back, a violent shudder quaking through you, your teeth clenched to keep from wailing out his name. He loses his rhythm as you tighten around him, and with a few more hard strokes he is flooding you with heat as he comes, his face buried in your neck.

You are both slick with sweat, breathless, and he heaves himself off of you, collapsing to the mattress beside you. There is no sound for a time but labored breathing as you both let your bodies cool, slow down, become calm.

He is stretched out beside you, silent, unmoving, and you are reluctant to be the one to break that silence. You hear him draw a breath, hold it for a moment, then exhale before he speaks quietly. "Is this... were we like this? Before?"

You reach for the covers, pulling them up around you as you answer. "Yes."

"This is how you feel… how you felt... about me?"

He sounds so hesitant, bewildered, and you feel tears well up in your eyes. "This is how I have always felt about you. It's not magic, or a curse. I love you, and now. That's what you're feeling. And the human part of you needs that."

He turns to his side, and you know he can see you in the darkness, can see the tears spilling from beneath your lashes, because he brushes the first of them away with gentle fingers. "Finish it." He says it so softly that you freeze, unsure that what you heard was real.

"You mean..."

He sits up, moving to the edge of the bed and standing. "Yeah. Call him." He grabs his clothes from the floor, walking towards the bathroom, your voice stopping him.

"Dean... are you sure?"

"Do it," he answers, and he goes in, closing the door behind him as you lay there stunned for a moment. Then you reach for the lamp, turning it on and grabbing your phone.

By the time Sam gets there, you're dressed. He looks a little wild-eyed, his hair a rumpled mess, and his gaze darts around the room as he approaches you. "Where is he? Are you all right?"

"I'm here, Sammy." Sam straightens to his full height, one arm in front of you as he tries to push you behind him. You grab his hand, looking up into his worried face.

"Sam, it's okay. He wants this," you say, squeezing his large hand comfortingly before moving away to sit on the edge of the bed. You look to Dean, almost able to read his thoughts from the fleeting expressions on his face, and for a moment you think he's going to bolt. But then he takes a deep breath and moves to sit beside you on the bed. You look up at Sam, watching as he swallows hard, pulling the cuffs from behind his back, but you stare resolutely into his eyes and shake your head. He blinks, hesitant, then tucks them back away and opens the small cooler containing blood-filled syringes.

You reach for Dean's hand, threading your fingers through his, watching as he gnaws at his lip for a moment before stretching his other arm out, fist clenched, then slowly opening. You squeeze his hand, and he glances over at you, then nods. You look to Sam, and he approaches carefully, hunkering down in front of his brother, inserting the needle into the vein to administer the shot before standing back up.

"How many more?" you ask softly, and Sam shakes his head.

"Not sure."

Dean's grip tightens around your hand as the fire begins to burn through his veins, and you watch helplessly as his face contorts in agony, his eyes going black.

–-

It's been almost a month since you got him back. It took four shots in all to finish cleansing the demon from Dean, to bring those green eyes you love so much back for good.

You will never forget that night, the pain he went through, holding him as his body seized with violent spasms, sweat pouring from him as he thrashed in your arms. You still carried a mark where he had sunk his teeth into your shoulder in the height of his agony, and you hadn't flinched away, almost glad to share a tiny fraction of what he was suffering.

He still has a hard time looking you in the eye. He's back, but he's not. Because he knows he's still on borrowed time, still carrying the Mark of Cain on his forearm, still cursed. You and Sam have forgiven him, but he is less forgiving of himself. As usual, he carries the weight on his shoulders, not willing to share the burden. And he refuses to listen to any plan to free him that might possibly unleash another possibly greater evil on the world.

You'll be here with him through it all. You would have gone to hell with him had it been the only option. You will be here with him through this hell. And you will help him be free from it, somehow, someday, or die trying.


End file.
